


Faith and Blood

by BurningMartian



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood Magic, Chantry, F/M, Qunari, Religion, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 14:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16307318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningMartian/pseuds/BurningMartian
Summary: A Hawke/Petrice piece written for my own amusement. Probably a bit on the odder side of things





	Faith and Blood

“You are Saarebas? Bas Saarebas?”

Hawke barely had the time to ask the Arvaraad what that meant before he was met with a battleaxe swinging towards his skull. Pedalling backwards, he retaliated with consecutive waves of frost to slow the grey giants, or tear them apart entirely.

Soon, the giants lay in a pile around his feet. All except the Arvaraad, who had proven remarkably persistent.

“Saarebas… your lies will not poison my ears… you will be tamed and brought.. to the Qun..”

Hawke himself cpuld not keep up the fight for much longer. He had drained himself dry, and his body was wracked with pain from his numerous wounds.

Pain.

A mage who had the knowledge could turn pain into power. Many feared it. They were fools. He could control it. He was strong enough to not let it wash over him.

His vision covered with a red haze as he tapped into power enough to rip the world asunder. And the qunari was torn inside out.

In the end, the mage Ketojan had given himself to flame. Much as Petrice, the sister who had charged Hawke with escorting him, had to have guessed.

And yet Hawke saw neither remorse nor fear in those steel grey eyes.

“I chose a vagrant from Lowtown because noone would miss you, and yet you survived. I would do it again, in a heartbeat. Anything to prod the inaction of the Chantry against these heretics. Anything to protect my faith.”

“And how do these qunari threaten your faith?”

The woman came closer, lips almost brushing against his ear.

“The wounds on your flesh answer that question for you… Maleficar.”

Hawke had been with many a woman in his life. And the Chantry sister could not even be called beautiful. Yet, the steel in her voice and her eyes sent a shiver down his spine, one that couldn't rightly be called fear.

***

“Again, we cross paths, Sister Petrice.”

“It's Mother Petrice now, Serah Hawke.”

Still that unchangingly haughty tone. Still no fear in those steel eyes.

“Someone has used the Grand Cleric's name unlawfully, Serah Hawke. Ser Varnell will pay for this trespass.”

Hawke scoffed. “Am I to believe that Templar lapdog is acting independent of your orders?”

And again, a low, cutting whisper, her breath brushing past his ear.

“It is no concern of mine what you believe. But believe this. Without me, you will never find those heretics you are so fond of.”

As she made to leave, Hawke grabbed her by the wrist in frustration. She turned, her lips curling in a smirk, challenge sparkling in her eye.

As he let go with a frustrated sigh, she spoke in that impossibly sharp whisper once more. “Darktown, Serah Hawke. Do not delay.”

Hawke never understood why the Arishok never made a move to leave the city, even as his rage bubbled ever greater beneath the surface. Perhaps he wanted an excuse to reduce the city to rubble. Well, sooner or later, he would find one.

But just once, Hawke wanted to see those cool, self assured eyes reflect started surprise. And so he buried a blade in the Qunari ambassador’s skull.

The shock in her steely demeanour would be his victory.

He would not be satisfied with that just once. He would see that expression many times yet before he was done.

He found Seamus, dead in the Chantry.

He knew the hand that had killed him.

Seamus had desired peace and understanding. But neither Kirkwall, nor the Qunari, could abide peace. 

Seamus Dumar only had himself to blame for his death.

“Stand with my men, Serah Hawke, and we will show the good people of Kirkwall how to test their faith.”

And so Hawke fought the tide of grey giants once more.

Tang filled the air as his vision blurred red, pain and pleasure and power coursing through his body.

The Qunari's bodies reduced to a red sheen on the Chantry floor, intermingling with the streams of his own blood.

As the Chantry Mother approached him to say something through his haze of consciousness, he whirled around, pinning her against the gleaming golden statue of Andraste.

And yet, her blasted eyes had that unshakeable confidence, as he pressed his blood stained lips to hers, tasting iron as their tongues twined.

He began to recoil, before feeling the sting of fingernails on his forearm.

“Done already, Serah Hawke?” Her breath hadn't even wavered.

Growling, he hiked the hem of her robe up her pale thighs.

“Last chance.”

She merely smirked in reply, her eyes flashing in challenge.

So he undid his own belt around his waist, and took her right there, at the feet of Andraste.

“You're a fanatical bitch, Petrice.” He growled, as his teeth closed around a clavicle.

“And you, Serah Hawke, are a brutish thug, given more than you deserve.” She whispered back, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He thrust deeper, furiously. “How does it feel, being taken by a Maleficar at the feet of the Maker's bride?”

“My soul belongs to Him. Everything I do, I do for His sake. You have taken- ah- nothing, Serah Hawke.” Sweat shined on both their flesh, as they neared completion. 

They peaked together, then collapsed on the floor, slick with blood, tainting their garments, painting their bare flesh.

“Mine…” Hawke was able to whisper, weakly, before giving in to his exhaustion, letting his head sag to a side.

“No, Serah Hawke..” Petrice cradled his head around her bosom. “Now you are mine.”


End file.
